


My Hands Will Stain the Seas Scarlet

by violaeade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, F/M, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaeade/pseuds/violaeade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Clarke doesn't run away, and she and Bellamy get that drink. some feelings are spilled, and there are some parallels to 1x08 because i loved it so much in the finale and i am nothing if not bellarke trash</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hands Will Stain the Seas Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

> one thing i really would have loved to see in the finale is bellamy and clarke really get into the specifics of what clarke had to do during these past few days (weeks?) because bellamy was really the only one that understood what she did, why she did it, and didnt think less of her for it. and so i wrote a little something to sate my soul and i hope you enjoy!! as per usual, comments are always immensely appreciated :)

“I think we deserve a drink,” Bellamy says, trying to lighten the dark expression on Clarke’s face.

She exhales deeply. “More like seven, maybe.”

His mouth curls up in a grim smile, but he feels something in his chest crack at the sadness in her voice.

Bellamy starts to walk towards the gate, brushing his arm lightly against Clarke’s so she’ll follow. But she remains standing still, her eyes locked on the Ark and her jaw tight. He turns back to face her, and he sees her clenching her fists at her sides. He takes a step closer and dips his head so she has to meet his eyes, but she can only hold his gaze for a second before she has to look away.

“Hey, Clarke, listen,” he says softly, taking another step towards her. “We’ll get through this, alright? We only did what we had to.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and sucks in a shaky breath. Bellamy waits patiently for her to gather herself, wishing he could do something to help mend the broken look on her face. He can feel his heart growing heavier, which he hadn’t thought was possible after the moment he placed his hand on hers in the mountain.

When she finally opens her eyes and looks back up at Bellamy, there are tears welling in her eyes. Her eyes are like shards of glass, splintered and sharp and slicing Bellamy right down to the bone.

“Clarke—” He breathes her name like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Can we just get those drinks, Bellamy?” she says before he can say anything else. She wipes her nose. “Please?”

He sees the weariness on her face and decides not to push her to talk, even though he’s burning to help. She’ll let him help when she’s ready. So he just nods and walks into Camp Jaha side by side with Clarke, and he lets his fingers wrap around hers for a small second. It’s his way of assuring that he’ll be there for her when she wants to talk. He’ll always be there.

*

A ring of stony teenagers sit around the fire, gripping so tightly to their cups of moonshine that their knuckles are white. Nobody really speaks much because there’s nothing to say that doesn’t sting. The relief at being rescued has worn off, and now everyone is drowning in their memories of what happened in the mountain. Harper can still hear the drill ringing in her ears and feel her bones crackling. She and Monty cling to each other like life rafts, Monty’s eyes flicking to Jasper every few seconds to see if maybe he’s looking, too. He never is. Jasper feels like ice, even with cup after cup of fiery moonshine sliding down his throat. Miller bumps his shoulder against Monty’s before he stands to grab another round. He can still feel the ghost of his father’s arms wrapped around him, but so, too, does he hear the skull cracking of the man he beat to death in Mount Weather. Wick comes by and grabs a few drinks to sneak back to Raven, who is confined to the med-bay once again. She tells Wick to grab enough drinks to burn away the taste of flesh that still lingers in her mouth.

Clarke sits to the side and watches her people, searching and searching for something to say to make them feel better. But half of them can't even look Clarke in the eye right now, and her throat is too dry to speak, anyways. Her head feels fuzzy from the drinks she tossed back one after the next, but she can still hear Bellamy and Octavia’s voices arguing behind her.

Octavia had stormed to the fire earlier, looking to pick a fight with Clarke. Now that their people were safe, Octavia had no reason to bury her anger anymore.

“You and I need to talk, Clarke,” Octavia had growled, the crackle of the fire seeming to echo the heat in her voice.

“Please, Octavia, can we do this later?” Clarke had said. She just needed one night to try and piece herself together a little before she could handle being yelled at.

Octavia stood her ground. “No, I think we can do this now.” She didn’t sound like someone who was going to take no for an answer.

So Clarke lurched to her feet and followed Octavia a safe distance from the rest of the kids before stopping and steeling herself, waiting for the screaming to begin. But when Octavia opened her mouth to yell, all that came out was a soft, defeated breath. The anger remained in her eyes, but there was a deeper sadness in them now.

“How could you, Clarke?” Octavia whispered. She clenched her jaw and looked away, obviously unhappy that she couldn’t muster the fervor to scream like she wanted to do. But Clarke understood. It was exhausting trying to keep up the energy to fight every second.

“You let all those people die,” Octavia continued, still staring at the ground instead of Clarke.

“Which time?” Clarke asked desolately, thinking about the fire in TonDC and the poisonous air in Mount Weather.

Octavia winced slightly. “I thought you were a good leader, Clarke, I thought—”

Clarke ground her teeth. “Tell me, Octavia, what you think a _good_ leader would have done in my place. Now tell me if they would’ve been able to save everyone from Mount Weather and _stay_ good.”

With that, Clarke left Octavia tight-lipped as she turned and started to head back to the fire for more moonshine. She heard Bellamy join Octavia behind her, and she could hear them start to quietly argue about Clarke and her choices. And now she remains by the fire, still listening to Bellamy trying to defend her and Octavia refusing to forgive Clarke so easily. She doesn’t deserve forgiveness anyways, but Octavia’s resentful words still hurt.

Suddenly, she feels like running. Her legs are itching and her lungs are about to burst and the empty looks from her people are breaking her heart. She stands and waits until she’s through the gate before she breaks out into a full sprint, her tears streaking down her cheeks and her hair whipping behind her. She’s panting but the burning feels good, so she keeps running until she’s well into the tree line and her footsteps are all she can hear. She can feel her guilt start to melt away and she runs, and it’s so freeing that she actually starts to laugh. Her laugh is loud and breathless and mixed with a few sobs.

The laughter couldn’t last forever.

Her foot catches on a tree root and she sprawls to the forest floor, the hard ground knocking the breath out of her. She rolls onto her back so she can breathe a little easier and watches the stars through the few empty spaces between the treetops. She wonders if the she’s looking at the same stars she used to see out the windows of the Ark, back when the dirt beneath her fingertips was just a dream.

She doesn’t take her eyes off the sky as she hears someone crashing through the trees after her. _Let it be a Grounder, for all I care_ , she thinks bitterly. Better yet, let it be Lexa so she can drive a real knife through Clarke’s chest instead of the imaginary one still stuck in her back.

But it’s Bellamy who bursts through the trees, his chest heaving and his eyes dark with only the moonlight to see by. He hurries to Clarke’s side when she doesn’t move, and he kneels next to her in the dirt.

“Clarke, are you okay?” he pants and searches her for injuries.

“No,” she answers honestly. “But I’m not hurt, don’t worry.”

She finally slides her gaze over to Bellamy, who is studying her closely. She can tell he’s worried about her by the way he looks down at her, and for once they’re both able to hold each other’s eyes for a few moments until the uneasiness slips through the cracks between them.

Bellamy leans down and grabs Clarke’s hand, saying, “Come on, Clarke, time to get up.”

She lets him pull her to her feet, but he only walks her to the nearest tree and then sits back down. He leans his back against the tree, and Clarke does the same. As they stare up at the stars again, they’re both thinking about the last time they sat in the woods together like this.

“This time, I’m the monster,” Clarke says, her voice teetering.

Bellamy turns his head to look at her, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Clarke, you know you’re incredible, right? You practically singlehandedly created an alliance with the Grounders, and you held it together long enough to save our people.” He pauses to inch closer, gently taking hold of Clarke’s arm until she turns to look back at him. “You protected your people, and you did the best you could.”

Her chin starts to wobble. “But how many people had to die? I killed so many people, Bellamy. I ended their _lives_ ,” she cries, her voice in tatters.

Bellamy tightens his grip on her arm. “You didn’t want to, Clarke. But Cage didn’t want to let our people go, so you did what needed to be done.” Bellamy’s voice hardens, trying to make her believe him.

She doesn’t. “I killed Finn. I let a _bomb_ drop on an entire city, and I hid in the shadows like a coward.” She pauses to hiccup back a sob before whispering, “I killed an entire civilization today.”

Bellamy leans closer and says, “ _We_ did that, Clarke. You and me. You don’t have to carry that one alone.”

Clarke lowers her head and closes her eyes, trying to hold back her tears. Her head drops right onto Bellamy’s shoulder, and after a brief moment of stillness, Bellamy shifts closer and wraps his arm around Clarke. She buries her face in her shoulder, shaking and still trying to keep herself from crying. He holds her as close as he can.

“I sent you into the mountain,” Clarke mumbles against his shirt.

“It was my idea, Clarke,” he says.

“They tortured you, didn’t they?” she presses. “That’s the only way you could’ve slipped past their defenses. They tortured you and drained your blood until Maya got you out of there.” Her voice breaks on Maya’s name. “Didn’t they?”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, and instead presses his lips into her hair. She lets out a shallow breath, knowing that she’s guessed correctly. He keeps his face in her hair for another minute before she pulls back. Her eyes are red and bloodshot, and there’s guilt seeping from her every pore.

“Why don’t you hate me, too?” she asks, her voice so small he barely hears.

He doesn’t break eye contact when he says, “I could never hate you, Clarke, never in a million years. I…” he trails off, searching for the right words. He finds them—no, he remembers them. “I need you too much.”

Clarke smiles sadly and leans over to hug him tight. They stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time; it could be a few seconds, or it could be a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. They breathe each other in and both feel something warm spreading out from their chests. As she holds onto Bellamy, Clarke feels the weight on her shoulders lessen ever so slightly. It’s enough.


End file.
